Here's an idea I like: the final song will be "Song for Charlotte's Daughters, in which Wilbur first discovers, then welcomes, then pleads with, then agonizes over, and finally accepts the baby spiders and what they must do every year. The memory of Charlotte sustains him. Once the work of his song is done, Wilbur can close his eyes for a snooze on top of his manure pile. I imagine a light drawing in on him, then to black.
(In saying so, I hope I'm not stuck on the image of Porky Pig at the end of those Bugs Bunny cartoons from years ago.)
The most complex bit in the last scene is when this happens: One by one, they climb to the top of the fence,
stand on their head, point their spinneret in the air and let loose a cloud of
fine silk. The silk forms a balloon. Each spider lets go of the fence and rises
into the air. The general effect is one of bursting, incl explosion of light
and music. The air fills with tiny balloons, each carrying away a spider.
A note to myself says, Let the designer figure it out! Which keys right in to what I hope for this play: that a group of professionals will build and perform it.
Maybe the most complex bit in the last scene is that time passes first a season at a time, then in a rush over the rest of Wilbur's days. Will be tricky to pace. It is the denouement of the piece, so things speed up toward their conclusion, but must stretch out a little, too.
Thursday 28 May 2020
Sunday 24 May 2020
Sacrifice
Dedicated readers of this blog--good Sunny Sunday evening to you, Uncle Chilli and Aunt Pep--will know of my admiration for the moral stakes put before us by Charlotte's Web. What Charlotte and Wilbur do for each other puts them in the top one percent on the holiness scale.
But wait a minute. Charlotte does go to a lot of trouble for Wilbur, knowing that if she doesn't, Wilbur will be slaughtered by Christmas. And Wilbur, in turn, saves her children by taking them home, while she lives out her last days and dies, alone. But that egg sac he takes so carefully home, and attends to so lovingly as time goes on, would have done just fine where Charlotte left it--attached safely to an out-of-the-way corner at the Fairgrounds. The spiders could hatch there as safely as in the doorway above Wilbur's pen at the farm.
Are the stakes, then, not quite so exalted as I claimed? Maybe Wilbur's not so noble, just lucky. But then I realize it's not the fact that matters--the fact that he didn't actually save her children--it's what it means that matters. He's maxed out his nobility, in other words, as Charlotte has. In his mind, he's saving her children, which is why when 511 out of 514 of them literally drift away when hatched, he's a little disappointed. But three stay. And some of their children will stay too, and Wilbur will live a long life in the company of Charlotte's daughters, and he'll be sure to tell them all about her.
But wait a minute. Charlotte does go to a lot of trouble for Wilbur, knowing that if she doesn't, Wilbur will be slaughtered by Christmas. And Wilbur, in turn, saves her children by taking them home, while she lives out her last days and dies, alone. But that egg sac he takes so carefully home, and attends to so lovingly as time goes on, would have done just fine where Charlotte left it--attached safely to an out-of-the-way corner at the Fairgrounds. The spiders could hatch there as safely as in the doorway above Wilbur's pen at the farm.
Are the stakes, then, not quite so exalted as I claimed? Maybe Wilbur's not so noble, just lucky. But then I realize it's not the fact that matters--the fact that he didn't actually save her children--it's what it means that matters. He's maxed out his nobility, in other words, as Charlotte has. In his mind, he's saving her children, which is why when 511 out of 514 of them literally drift away when hatched, he's a little disappointed. But three stay. And some of their children will stay too, and Wilbur will live a long life in the company of Charlotte's daughters, and he'll be sure to tell them all about her.
Wednesday 20 May 2020
Work Continues
This afternoon in the park, looking at scene 11, dubbed "The Trick," of my Wilbur and Charlotte (or is it Charlotte and Wilbur Not yet sure), Charlotte's revision of her web to say "Some Pig" appears. It's diving revelation, of a kind.
Pretty much the entire scene, I was thinking in the park, would be sung in a song called "Upon First Looking Into Charlotte's (Revised) Web" in which everyone responds to what the morning light has revealed.
Forgetting for a moment the details that the novel delivers at this point in the story, I imagined my own family, gathering for a reunion. There's combing of hair, washing of cars, trying-on of a new hat. Somebody brings a pie, a thermos of tea. A ball and a couple of gloves. Somebody pulls out a cribbage board. A Mountie shows up and salutes! etc.
The point is, what Charlotte has written jolts this community. It's language used as they've never seen it. And the first thing every new passer-by, every rubber-necker, has to do is read.
This would be an ensemble piece, obviously. I imagine a wagon pulled on, loaded with costume/prop bits the performers can zip on and off as they work through the company of characters responding to what is written. (The Mayor in a ceremonial sash, a line of schoolkids holding hands, the editor of the local newspaper, the county cop, etc.)
And if that's not enough to get a song lyric composed, I can draw from my own response, these last few months. to Charlotte's Web itself.
Pretty much the entire scene, I was thinking in the park, would be sung in a song called "Upon First Looking Into Charlotte's (Revised) Web" in which everyone responds to what the morning light has revealed.
Forgetting for a moment the details that the novel delivers at this point in the story, I imagined my own family, gathering for a reunion. There's combing of hair, washing of cars, trying-on of a new hat. Somebody brings a pie, a thermos of tea. A ball and a couple of gloves. Somebody pulls out a cribbage board. A Mountie shows up and salutes! etc.
The point is, what Charlotte has written jolts this community. It's language used as they've never seen it. And the first thing every new passer-by, every rubber-necker, has to do is read.
This would be an ensemble piece, obviously. I imagine a wagon pulled on, loaded with costume/prop bits the performers can zip on and off as they work through the company of characters responding to what is written. (The Mayor in a ceremonial sash, a line of schoolkids holding hands, the editor of the local newspaper, the county cop, etc.)
And if that's not enough to get a song lyric composed, I can draw from my own response, these last few months. to Charlotte's Web itself.
Wednesday 6 May 2020
One of those Small Breakthroughs
I'd been wondering how to deliver how much Fern loves Wilbur. The bottle feedings four or five times daily. The way he falls asleep in her baby carriage. His long lashes, and the rest of it. This we have to know so that what happens later in the story hits us hard. The stakes are high for the characters in this story. That's what every scene must build.
Anyway, this is what I came up with: One day at school Miss B. assigns an essay. Tell what you love about someone you love. Fern's classmates disappear into darkness. She sits alone at her desk with her pencil and scribbler and begins, "What I Love About Wilbur," by Fern Arable. Her essay, printed in a sure but early hand, will say, in the end, Every day is a happy day, and every night is peaceful.
This monologue--will it be sung?--will bump up against the big old world of pork production, in which Wilbur's got to be sold. He's eating scraps, not just warm milk, and I'm not (says Mr. Arable) willing to provide for him any longer.
Fern is in anguish but, in one of the story's wise-parent moments, she and her father arrive at the solution: she'll sell the pig to her Uncle Homer for $6.00. She can go down the road to visit Wilbur any time she wants.
And Wilbur finds his home in Zuckerman's barn.
You know how the rest of it goes. The fact that Wilbur is a pig means the butcher is never far off. He avoids his pig destiny only through the writerly intervention by his dear friend Charlotte.
But not to get ahead of myself. For now, maybe, Fern's monologue/essay shows us the devotion we must feel with her, which, in turn, enriches what she and her father achieve in the Zuckerman deal.
Anyway, this is what I came up with: One day at school Miss B. assigns an essay. Tell what you love about someone you love. Fern's classmates disappear into darkness. She sits alone at her desk with her pencil and scribbler and begins, "What I Love About Wilbur," by Fern Arable. Her essay, printed in a sure but early hand, will say, in the end, Every day is a happy day, and every night is peaceful.
This monologue--will it be sung?--will bump up against the big old world of pork production, in which Wilbur's got to be sold. He's eating scraps, not just warm milk, and I'm not (says Mr. Arable) willing to provide for him any longer.
Fern is in anguish but, in one of the story's wise-parent moments, she and her father arrive at the solution: she'll sell the pig to her Uncle Homer for $6.00. She can go down the road to visit Wilbur any time she wants.
And Wilbur finds his home in Zuckerman's barn.
You know how the rest of it goes. The fact that Wilbur is a pig means the butcher is never far off. He avoids his pig destiny only through the writerly intervention by his dear friend Charlotte.
But not to get ahead of myself. For now, maybe, Fern's monologue/essay shows us the devotion we must feel with her, which, in turn, enriches what she and her father achieve in the Zuckerman deal.
Friday 1 May 2020
As I Was Saying
(I think that's the title of my next memoir fragment . . .)
I was talking about that guy who comes out in the blue patterned sports jacket and slacks, shirt and tie, looks across the stage at the tableaus of three or four fairy tales, and says, Once upon a time . . .
This cues the famous 16th-note lead-in, more of a kick-off, to an orchestral vamp that underscores the stories we're about to experience.
Since we last met, dear reader, I did begin to lean on imagining how my Charlotte's Web adaptation might begin. Before, I had Mr. Arable with the ax cross once and disappear. The various characters take turns stepping into the light just long enough to give us a taste of what they're about, ending with "Where's Papa going with that ax?" Now, Mr. A strides intently across the stage at every transition from one mini-preview to the next. And our narrator plays most of the speakers--the cow, the sheep, various humans, the rat--donning a prop or costume piece appropriate for each speaker. These would hang on a series of hooks as if just inside the barn door, or back porch. (While I'm at it here, what if one actor played all the voices AND Mr. Arable with the ax. That would leave Charlotte, Wilbur and Templeton. A cast of four. (Absolute minimum.))
And so on. I'm pretty sure my work on this show in the next little while will be about, somehow, if and how this narrator figure could work.
Yeah, four is too few. The three main characters and an ensemble--each person playing multiple voices--of five, for eight altogether. We'll see.
I was talking about that guy who comes out in the blue patterned sports jacket and slacks, shirt and tie, looks across the stage at the tableaus of three or four fairy tales, and says, Once upon a time . . .
This cues the famous 16th-note lead-in, more of a kick-off, to an orchestral vamp that underscores the stories we're about to experience.
Since we last met, dear reader, I did begin to lean on imagining how my Charlotte's Web adaptation might begin. Before, I had Mr. Arable with the ax cross once and disappear. The various characters take turns stepping into the light just long enough to give us a taste of what they're about, ending with "Where's Papa going with that ax?" Now, Mr. A strides intently across the stage at every transition from one mini-preview to the next. And our narrator plays most of the speakers--the cow, the sheep, various humans, the rat--donning a prop or costume piece appropriate for each speaker. These would hang on a series of hooks as if just inside the barn door, or back porch. (While I'm at it here, what if one actor played all the voices AND Mr. Arable with the ax. That would leave Charlotte, Wilbur and Templeton. A cast of four. (Absolute minimum.))
And so on. I'm pretty sure my work on this show in the next little while will be about, somehow, if and how this narrator figure could work.
Yeah, four is too few. The three main characters and an ensemble--each person playing multiple voices--of five, for eight altogether. We'll see.
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